Invading Privacy
by Jaeh
Summary: Four times Irene Adler invaded his privacy, and the one time she didn't. May contain innuendo.
1. Tugon

A/N: Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/386442.

Tugon, in my language, can be loosely translated to Response. I thought it a fitting title for this chapter.

* * *

She isn't certain what happened, or where it came from. All she knows is that she went to his flat as part of their little game and found him alone. They banter, first with words, and then wordlessly. Their eyes meet.

All it took for her is one little _push_, one little shove and she comes undone, presses herself all over him, kisses on his jaw, his lips, his cheek, his throat - _everywhere _she can get her lips on.

He responds, and it was even more than she can ask for.

"All I want is for you to _want_ me." She half groans, half whispers into his ears, need dripping from her voice. "Is that too much to ask?"

"I can't." He replies, his pliant movements earlier reverting back to something rigid_, more rigid _than he was before.

_"Why not?"_

"Because," he clears his throat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, and you're Irene Adler."

"That is a poor excuse." She murmurs, _purrs_, into his ear, and she felt him shiver slightly against her. One look into his eyes confirmed what his elevated pulse suggested, and she moans quietly at what she found.

"_But you do._"

"I can't." He repeats. To everyone else, it will have sounded the same, but she isn't everyone else. She hears what she wanted to hear, and she _knows_, she confirms, just like that.

"Let's have dinner."

"No."

No 'I'm not hungry', or any other flirtatious comment (but from him, it wasn't really flirtatious, was it); just a flat out _no._

It confirms what she already suspected, what she _wanted_.

"All right." She says, disengaging from their tangled… everything. She collects herself together, and almost shakily, straightens herself in front of him. She smoothes over her dress, and runs her finger almost lovingly on his jaw, a gesture that she's more familiar with. More controlling, rather than her spilling and splitting at the seams.

She adjusts his collar and the lapels of his suit, and pats his shoulder almost affectionately. "You know how to reach me."

He doesn't reply.

"I will be seeing you, Mr. Holmes." She says, and she opens the door, winking at the doctor who appears in the doorway and blinks at her in shock. She is aware of how it might have looked, with her lipstick smeared all over her jaw. She slips out, and wipes the make-up away.

She knows he'll be seeing him again, on his own terms, when he's ready. And all she hopes is that he will be.


	2. Basa

A/N: Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/398072 around May.

Basa, in my language, can be loosely translated to Wet. I named the first chapter 'Tugon', using my language, so I figured, y'know, why the hell not.

* * *

She slips in, unnoticed. The good doctor is away on his shift, and she assumes that he is all alone in the flat.

What she doesn't expect is for the flat to be empty. Where else would he be? He doesn't have a case. The man certainly doesn't take walks, nor does he go out for a pint with 'friends'.

So it is either the loo, or the shower.

She presses her ear against the door, and hears the soft patter of water against the tiles. She grins to herself and opens the door, and pushing the curtain aside, climbs in the tub, dress and all.

He blinks at her.

"Well, you've seen mine, I thought it's time you showed me yours." She says with a smirk. "Hello."

"What are you doing?" He stammers, eyes widening almost comically. His mouth moves again, but no sound came out.

She grins, happy to catch him off-guard. "You know, you really should lock your door when in the bathroom. People might come in and catch you…" She eyes him appreciatively. "…not decent."

"John's away." He says in reply.

She merely smiles "I know."

"What are you doing here? You're getting wet."

"Oh, you say such obvious things, detective." She purrs, leaning in closer, but careful not to touch him, trace fingers against his skin... "Isn't this nice? Showering with someone? Have you ever tried it before?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he stays there, almost frozen, it seems to her, and she takes note that the water seemed to be _freezing_.

She doesn't mind. If it helps him, it helps. She won't argue.

"No words, Sherlock?" She pouts. "You're no fun."

"You have your own shower in the hotel." He finally replies, still a little tense. "And I am certain it is more luxurious than this one." She doesn't ask how he knew she is staying in a hotel, and not in a client's house. This is Sherlock, after all.

"But it's more fun to shower _with _someone." She insists, pressing against him to see if how he would react. _If_he would react. She almost giggles at the thought. "Come on, Sherlock, aren't you in any way curious?"

"No." He replies. "Now get out of my shower." He coughs, and gently pushes her away. "Please."

_Please?_ She grins. "Well, if you put it that way." She leaves, grabbing his towel and drying her hair with it. She inhales his scent, his shampoo, soap… _everything_. He smells nice, like mint, tea and a hint of something she can't identify. His smell reminds her of London, and she smiles. It fits him so well.

She leaves her wet clothes folded on the sink. She is vaguely amused as she noticed the mirror start to fog over, knowing Sherlock finally remember to turn on the heater again, and she traces a message with her finger and presses her lips against it to leave a mark.

_I'll be back for my clothes. Thanks for yours._

She bumps into the doctor in the living room, wearing Sherlock's shirt and his boxers, and a borrowed trench coat from his closet of costumes. "John." She greets, and leaves.

God knows what the doctor is thinking. She is all wet, and she's wearing Sherlock's clothes. Amused by the thought, she smiles.

She'll be back. She likes that dress, after all.


End file.
